A black luxury car swerved violently, struck the roadside barrier, and crashed with a sound so sharp that everyone froze. Dust exploded around the wreck. Metal twisted. Glass shattered. The engine hissed like something wounded.
For one second, no one moved.
Then Zanibu ran.
She did not think about the exam. She did not think about the time. She only heard the faint sound coming from inside the vehicle, a weak breath that seemed too fragile to survive another minute.
A man stumbled out from the driver’s side, pale and shaking. He looked at the crowd, then at the car, then stepped backward.
“Is someone inside?” Zanibu shouted.
The man opened his mouth, but no words came. Then, as if fear had swallowed whatever courage he had, he turned and disappeared into the gathering crowd.
Zanibu stared after him for half a heartbeat.
Then she climbed toward the open door.
Inside, a woman lay slumped against the seat. Her clothes were expensive, her face pale, her forehead bleeding. She looked like someone from another world, but blood made all worlds the same.
“Can you hear me?” Zanibu whispered.
The woman did not answer.
Zanibu pulled off her scarf and pressed it against the wound. Her hands shook, but she kept them there. Behind her, people murmured.
“Don’t touch her.”
“The car may burn.”
“Wait for the police.”
Zanibu turned, eyes blazing. “If we wait, she may die.”
Silence.
So she did what the others were too afraid to do. She begged two men to help lift the woman out. She stopped a passing truck. She climbed into the back and held the scarf against the woman’s head while the vehicle bounced along the rough road toward the clinic.
Every second felt stolen from her future.
At the clinic, nurses rushed the woman inside. Zanibu tried to follow, but one of them stopped her.
“Are you family?”
Zanibu looked down at her bloodstained hands. “No.”
“Then wait outside.”
And in that moment, the exam came crashing back into her mind.
“What time is it?” she asked.
No one answered.
She ran.
She ran until her lungs burned, until her sandals slapped hard against the road, until the city rose in front of her like a promise she was losing by the minute. She begged a taxi driver to take her. She squeezed into the front seat. She watched the road through eyes full of panic.
When traffic stopped near the city entrance, she jumped out and ran again.
Past buses. Past vendors. Past strangers who turned to stare at the girl with dust on her dress and dried blood on her hands.
At last, she saw the exam center.
The gate was closed.
Locked.
Two officials stood outside.
Zanibu stumbled toward them. “Please,” she gasped. “I’m here for the exam.”
One official looked at his watch. “You are late.”
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